


Berceuse

by Beryllium_Astatine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angela's a mom, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baby, CHAN CHAN CHAAAAN, Comfort, Disasters, Drama, F/F, Family, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not a mom nor have I ever given birth so please forgive my eventual inconsistencies, International Setting, Motherhood, Overwatch - Freeform, Pharah isn't, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beryllium_Astatine/pseuds/Beryllium_Astatine
Summary: "Maybe we're in hiding now, my little bird, but I can still sing the world to you while we wait."





	1. Introduction

When she woke up from the dreamless nap she'd taken and the little pinkish bundle was, once again, placed in her arms, Angela realized she was frightened. There had been no time to be scared when she held her bloodied child on her arms for the first time, shaking and crying, as there was room for little more than fascination and a convoluted, gigantic affection that she couldn't handle yet. She recalled spewing greetings and promises with a raspy voice, unaware of her own words, the raw scent coming from both of them, and little else.

Now that they had both rested a little and started to understand their new places in this world, Angela could allow herself to be taken aback by that small, toothless human tucked in her arms. No matter how many times she had seen babies in the hospital; this felt completely unprecedented. Now, she realized, her job had just started.

Angela shifted in bed, carefully unwrapping the child just enough to examine their body. She could see a small bump in their chest, thumping quickly, and a shiver went down her spine realizing the baby's little heart was just a few thin layers of skin and muscle away. Their wrinkled face contorted slightly, making a small squeal when they yawned. Angela trembled more.

It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard, and the strangest. She wondered if laughing at that poor little creature would be acceptable for a new mom. But then again, there was no one to judge her there, so she chuckled delightfully.

Her baby was the cutest wrinkled thing in the world and made the funniest sounds, and was delicate as a milhojas. Angela caressed their nearly inexistent fair hair with the tip of her fingers and wondered if it'd get darker with time. She stared deep in their greenish eyes and wondered if they'd stay like that.

Probably not, but still it was a spark of herself in another person, in the most intimate way. She'd touched lives from all around the world, twisting organs and bringing people back to health for years now. Her mark was burned on every one of them. But this time it was from inside out, flesh she built and nurtured in her own entrails, and that now was someone who was breathing and producing lovely sounds. She believed they had all fingers and toes (she didn't check) and that their insides were okay (she didn't ask) and that they were overall healthy, that there was nothing to be aware about (she couldn't know). She also believed they were a boy, but that was something she'd have no say in their life.

Angela realized she was crying when tears fell on the child's blanket. She nonchalantly wiped them from their face, knowing too well they were from sheer fear. It'd been a long time since she was that afraid.

But they were worth it. And she placed a tender kiss on their forehead, lowering her head to touch the tip of their nose with hers, grinning just for them.


	2. First

At night, she felt terror.

 

* * *

 

Once, in King's Row, Angela had been targeted by an enemy troop, from Talon. She took notice of their presence, and their actual intentions, far too late, and couldn't take cover behind Reinhardt in time. Angela was struck in mid-flight, at a blind spot behind a bronze horse monument, and no one noticed her scream over the havoc.

Overwatch should have predicted that, she should have known, she should have flown higher, faster... All those thoughts flashed as she dropped towards the gravel. When she hit it, only the smell of blood remained in her mind for what seemed to be a long time.

The sweet scent of Talon's numbing gas creeped along in her conscience, and the ground under her body soon became painfully real. Angela heard muffled explosions and shouts, and told herself she was alive and well. She just needed to crawl to safety, somehow, and tried to stretch her left arm forward.

A sharp pain shot through her abdomen down to her hip, and the world disappeared in a noise before her eyes.

 

"Fractured, it has to be fractured. Maybe broken. Maybe shattered."

  


"Angela, you've been hurt. Angela, you need to call for help."

  
  


"Angela, _move_."

  
  
  
  


"Angela, _you're going to die_."

  
  
  
  
  


"You're going to die _alone_."

 

* * *

 

 

She was alone in the small, cozy hospital room. The baby slept on the crib by the left cream-colored wall, across from a generously large window from where she could see the maternity patio. Angela saw the tip of the child’s yellow beanie from her position, standing by the window; there was no breeze in the warm night, and she wondered if they weren't hot under the crocheted hat.

"Nonsense. He could get a cold." Angela scolded herself. She reached for the piece of furniture beside her, impatiently looking for something in the dark. As she couldn't find it she turned away from the window, stomping towards the bathroom near the bedroom door.

She stepped on the tepid tile, arms stretched ahead trying to find the light switch near the mirror. When she finally did and the unnatural white fluorescent lights were turned on, Angela breathed a curse at her unaccustomed eyes, blinking a few times before looking at her own image on the mirror before her.

That was Angela, but not the Angela she knew. That was some other of herself.

The bags under her eyes were deep in the pale, moist skin. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail, which was entangled after being laid upon in bed. Her lips lacked color, but through the robe cleavage she could see the same wasn't true for her nipples - round and purple like they were ready to burst, like a violet, under the slightest touch. Below them the layers of loose stomach skin, now free from the tightness of pregnancy, made her feel like a sad emptied balloon. Her thighs were reddish and hurt, and not even the cheap hospital slippers could conceal her still swollen feet.

It was the disheartened look in her own eyes that startled her, however. She had seen that expression wash the hospitals and emergency posts she worked at during all of her career - wounded lambs, waiting for holocaust. All creatures were the same in suffering, and in her first months as a field doctor she quickly learned that was the first sign of defeat. And the only time she'd _seen it_ plastered on her own face was...

 

* * *

 

"Doctor Ziegler! Doctor -- Angela!"

 

Angela felt her body twitch at the sound of her own name, but the pain blinded her again. She only realized someone was trying to shake her conscious several seconds later.

"Reinhardt! Please! Doctor Ziegler's..." Oh, it was the cadet. What was her name again?

Angela couldn't focus on the question, as the ground came trembling and grumbling with alarming speed. That was Rein, she knew before anything else.

"Miss Ziegler!" His voice thundered above the exploding bombs and shooting, and she was slightly surprised she hadn't really paid attention to all the mayhem around her until that moment. Her attention returned to Reinhardt, who seemed to be in the middle of a sentence. "...walk. just hold tight, doctor. I promise you'll be fine."

Oh, right. Oxton. Lena Oxton. Angela tried to nod, but she wasn't sure she had managed to.

She felt stings of pain through her left side was Reinhardt's hands wormed under her body, and Lena seemed to be arranging her limbs in some fashion. She was suddenly up in the air, supported by the cold armored hands, and she couldn't keep conscious anymore.

The last thing she did see, though, left a scar in her mind. Her own reflection on Reinhardt's chestplate showed someone she could barely recognize. A wounded lamb - the terror.

 

* * *

 

Angela felt her blood pressure drop as her vision grew blurred and dark. She grabbed the bathroom sink in front of her with suddenly sweaty hands, and knelt carefully before dropping down on her side, slowly. She wished the tiles were cooler than her clammy skin, but now she couldn't focus on anything but breathing heavily, waiting for her functions to reorganize themselves.

Through the confusion, there was no way she could lie to herself anymore: the nanites weren't enough to soothe her system from all discomfort. Her entire body hurt like she was about to burst, her insides still slowly coming to the right place after the birth. She could barely nurse her baby earlier, cringing her teeth in pain as the newborn suckled her nipple clumsily.

She opened her eyes, trying to focus on the crack patterns of the wall tiles, following their lines with an unusual attention. The nanites had done their part, all right. Her episiotomy incision was completely healed and didn't hurt at all, as soon as 4 hours after birth. She was sore from all the process, true, but definitely not harmed; and from medical experience she knew she stood physically healthier, and more composed, than most new mothers.

But Angela knew, as much as she struggled to admit it to her pride, that her technology was still imperfect. It healed quickly, but didn't inhibit pain receptors at the same rate, which could make a perfectly healed area feel sore for a while. In addition to that, continued damage took even longer to stop hurting, due to the constant stimuli. And the fast-changing motherhood stages didn't give the nanites time to placate the swelling and aftershocks of hormonal discharges.

She focused her gaze even more, her calculations less and less hazy. Angela should be in a good shape faster than most people who'd just given birth, and that she would be able to watch over herself and her child without help, hopefully. But she didn't know specifically how well her body would respond to pain, soreness, and hormonal shifts.

And obviously, the nanites couldn't mitigate the reason she'd had fallen to the floor just now, just like they couldn't when she was frozen in place after we was wounded in the third King's Row battle.

Angela felt tears trailing from her eyes again, her body still motionless against the tiled floor. She was fine, she was safe. She just needed to sit up slowly, wash her face with cold water, drink a few sips of juice she had by her bed. The baby would probably wake up at some point tonight; babies had no trained circadian cycle and those don't start developing one until six weeks or more. They also usually didn't need to be fed in the middle of the night after the third month. Not that her breasts would hurt like that until three months from now, of course, and not that she didn't want to feed the baby properly, she did, she would, she was going to protect them, like she always did -

"Angela." She ordered herself in her mind soothingly, slowly closing her eyes. "Please move." But the sudden relaxation inside her head only broke the last resistance she had that night.

She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to stop the sobbing that galloped up her chest and made her entire body tremble. She’d lost all sense of time long ago.

She started regaining control when she felt her body stiffened due to her position on the hard floor. Nausea crept up her throat, and Angela swallowed the bile, finally feeling strong enough to react to panic. Leveraging herself with her still slightly weak right arm, she managed to sit up limply, sniffing and scrubbing her face with her forearms. After some time she couldn't precise, Angela was up on her feet again, staring at her version in the mirror.

In King's Row, she was dangerously close to expire. She thought her paleness and the horror in her features came from the close encounter to death and despair, like when she saw the same in her patients' expressions. She had forgotten that look was also present in the eyes of the traumatized, of the hopeless, of the exhausted.

Angela stared at her own eyes. They were deep in her orbits and looked watery, transparent.

But she saw herself there.

"I am so young." She muttered, louder than she thought she could. "I'm healthy. Nothing bad will happen to me, I will handle it." She swallowed hard. "And... And Falke will be alright with me. We're both going to do alright. We've already been through worse."

Angela hugged herself tightly, careful not to brush against her sensitive skin. In an inspiration, she lowered her head and squinted her eyes to examine her breasts; there were no cracks on her nipples. At least the nanites would take care of that; she was more than able to handle some swelling and inept sucking from the baby.

...from Falke. That was their name.

Angela returned to the room, approaching the crib with no hurry. The small lump on it moved ever so slightly, rhythmically, each breath inaudible even when Angela approached her face to the little one's. She placed her hand gently on the beanie on his head, lifting it a little, and caressed his forehead with the back of her fingers.

"Shh shh shh" she chanted, whispering. " _Roti Rösli im Garte, Maieriesli im Wald. Wänn de Wind chunt choge blase, so verwelked si vald..._ " “The red rose in the garden” came to her lips automatically. Was that a real mom thing, lovingly reacting without prior planning to her baby? Examining their face for each detail, each line, each curve of each cheek?

She did not know, but she did slid her fingers to feel Falke’s face, memorizing his shape with constant bewilderment, like she still didn’t believe he was there. "Your nose", she muttered, booping the baby’s button nose carefully, "it's gonna get shaped like mine. What a prissy face you’ll have, _du pfüderi_." A warm chuckle purred from her mouth as she kept singing.

" _Liebi Sunne chum füre, liebi Sunne chum bald..._ " She let her voice trail off and placed a peck on his forehead, before pulling the beanie back and stepping towards the window.

The sky was a dark, but noticeable, shade of blue. She inhaled deep a few times, sensing the morning and mouthing blessings under her breath.

It was going to be okay, tomorrow.

  


* * *

 

 

"Could you please repeat his first name, Miss Ziegler?"

"Falke." It rolled on her tongue like it was the first time she'd said it.

"Falco?"

"No. Falke. F-a-l-k-e." Was she condemning her baby to a life of name-spelling? She didn't want to be _that_ mom...

"Got it, Falke. Like a medieval knight, right?" The person at the name register table grinned, winking to the newborn. They were nothing but  kind, all smiles on a prematurely wrinkling face. "Born in an auspicious day for a knight, too. October 19th, an important day for warrior martyrs. And a fun date for Halloween themed parties!"

Angela couldn't help to grin at that. The elderly notary made a funny face at the baby before returning to jotting down more information on Falke's birth from the medical files. To Angela, it was uncommon to see the notary manually transcript the data, and her eyes moved from the different screens as to make sure if everything checked out. The notary had assured her it allowed to a final data review and it actually lowered the chances of mistakes, but Angela wasn't so sure. In the places she'd worked, they used digital means as frequently as possible - human error was much too common.

She tried to distract herself looking out the glass walls around the hospital lounge. Outside, the day shone like there was diamond dust in the air; if it was Zurich, she’d know it was only ice crystals in the air, and the clear blue sky and bright sun meant one of the coldest days in the year outside.

But they were in Alexandria. The shining was probably some kind of optical illusion from the sun sparkling in the sea, which was maybe a block away from the hospital. Or maybe humidity in the air, but Angela seriously doubted it. Egypt was dry even when they were near the ocean or the Nile, and the added heat had the bad habit of making her faint at least once every summer. She got used to putting on sunscreen every time of the day and wearing very  large straw hats to avoid insolation. Her colleagues in the village hospital started calling her “fennec”.

Falke hiccuped in her arms, all bundled up in white and yellow. Angela snapped out of her thoughts wiping a few drops of drool around the baby’s mouth a little too diligently. Dakhla’s surroundings were too far from her now, but her child… he was _right there_.

She took another look at the notary. Their skin looked like wrinkled paper, and the eye-squinting behind thick lenses made her realize they simply wouldn’t add eye-implants for a reason or another. She’d have to review it all later.

The notary squinted their eyes once again at the register document, and turned to the woman.

"Okay, okay now. Miss Ziegler. There’s only two blanks to fill, that I couldn’t gather from the info passed down to me.” The notary swished the holographic document towards her and pointed to a red line below Falke’s name. “First is the other parent’s name, if it’s pertinent, of course. If not, the second issue will be automatically arranged, as Falke’s nationality will match yours. But if he does have another parent to be named and they happen to be Egyptian, Falke has the right of double nationality.”

Angela pursued her lips just slightly, rocking the child in her arms. She prepared herself for those questions, but she couldn’t help but to hear her voice tremble a little.

“He’ll have double nationality.” She finally said, reaching on her bag for a white envelope. Angela handed it over to the notary, who took the small flashdrive inside and plugged to his holotablet. The images of an ID card and corroborated medical results appeared instantly, and the notary squinted their eyes again at the documents while picking up the pen to quickly write on the child’s file.

“Oh, no. I want only my last name there. Falke Ziegler.”

The notary looked up at her, suspiciously. “But the other surname is very auspicious. It refers to guidance, and even virtue -”

“I know” Angela cut them, dryly. “, and you can fill the second parent name. But Falke’s inheriting my surname alone.”

the notary shot her a glare.

“As you wish, Miss Ziegler.” their voice was much lower now. “Name: Falke Ziegler. Mother’s name: Angela Ziegler. Father’s name: Anwar Al Mahdi. Is that correct?”

Angela held their gaze, flaring her nostrils. “Yes, that is correct.” _And I’m sorry, Anwar_.


	3. Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pharah hates the cold.

In its glory days, Overwatch was the most successful international paramilitary and scientific organization ever created. After the crumbling of NATO in the 2020’s and the short-lived Northern and Southern Hemisphere Leagues, world politics and private corporations were in a never seen disarray. Whoever grew by the end of the 20th century had seen it coming with environmental alarms, highly technological warfare, and tidal waves from liberal and conservative sectors of humanity as violent than ever, and many were sure that the Third World War would break at any moment, with the Doomsday clock dangerously close to midnight.

In that sense, the First Omnic War was a blessing. Humanity had to unite fast and efficiently against a common external threat, and nationwide leagues have been made despite disagreements and diplomatic issues. It wasn’t a completely cohesive and flawless process, but it created a bond strong enough that most countries and international leagues didn’t turn down the offer to create Overwatch and give it a laissez-passer throughout most of the world to interfere in conflicts and set bases.

With the headquarters in Zurich and the strong support from the European Union, it was logical that most of the bases were located in Western Europe and North Africa, despite vocal critics about how Overwatch chose to settle among rich countries. All settlements were strategically located, however; although Zurich and Gibraltar were the most famous, there have been bases in Sicily, Ilios, Tripoli, among other places. And, hidden from the public eye and the tourists, many hideouts and secret spots, some even used by the infamous Blackwatch. Those weren’t known by most agents not even when Overwatch had the greatest number of people in their lines, and after the PETRA Act, all of them have been gradually abandoned.

Therefore there was no special reason why Special Base 16: Montferrat had no working heat system in the middle of fall. The Pic de Montferrat was chosen by its discretion, but it was isolated and the base had a difficult access. As Overwatch was disbanded keeping the sheer cold of the Pyrenees from the cold quarters (an adapted rock turret from the 1700s) wasn’t a top priority.

But no logical explanation made Fareeha Amari less miserable as she sat in the Special Base common room, under many layers of clothes and two thick wool blankets. She had dragged every salvageable comforter and pillow kept in the base there and covered the stone floor she’s have to step, and after a small silent meltdown involving trying to light the fireplace she managed to make a comfortable den for herself. Her cold extremities were still a reminder of the bitter place she was stuck in, though, and Fareeha kept eating raw marshmallows inside her pillow fort while watching an old Eurovision show.

There was a reason why she’d always spend winters in Giza and never in the Overwatch headquarters in Switzerland, as a kid. There was a reason why she dreaded spending the Holidays in Canada. Those places were _cold_.

Fareeha sighed as she stuffed her face with more marshmallows and checked the holotablet on her left, pressing the screen to display six floating screens before her. Her trained eyes skimmed through the video feeds from around the Special Base: sentinels chatting as they shivered outside, a small valley by southeast covered in thin ice, that cute curly-haired soldier patrolling the exterior perimeter. Nothing of note, just like the 23 days before. On day 12 the perimeter had been trespassed by a group of drunk exchange students from the United States, but they were promptly caught and scared off with no injuries. Fareeha pouted, half-wishing it had been a real attack so she could have some action. She was getting restless.

Of course, it could’ve been a much better mission if it wasn’t a stakeout in the middle of the Pyrenees in mid-autumn, with 3 new recruits from Helix on their first mission with Overwatch, all intimidated by her. Fareeha even tried to be friendly and polite with all of them, but no real friendships had bloomed. She found herself alone most of the time, patrolling the area with the Raptora suit, checking the base systems, or dying of boredom in that very den. If only someone had told them _what_ were they expecting…

“But of course not. Of _course_ not. Why explain anything to anyone, right?” she rolled her eyes to the blanket tent above her. “Why sending Captain Amari to a God-forsaken corner of the world, right?” she tapped the holotablet again and all screens vanished from her sight. Sighing again, she reached for her personal device, hitting the “play” button to keep watching the musical performance. Only a minute later she decided to shut it off and lay on her back, frowning.

She knew well why she was ordered to go there. She had no right to allow narcissistic thoughts when her own signature was the first to appear in the transference document, after she had been the one on pilgrimage in the Helix offices, requesting at first, begging by the end, for a favor. Fareeha had put herself at the Helix generals’ mercy.

…at their mercy for mercy towards Mercy. Suddenly Fareeha felt laughter growing on her chest. How hadn’t she thought of that joke before? She’d have to tell Angela later. Angela would’ve loved to be there in the mountains; it was her habitat. Instead, Angela was in Egypt, Fareeha’s habitat. How strange was that? She chuckled loudly.

The laughter faded slowly as Fareeha pulled her necklace from the collar of her clothes, absently-minded. She played with the dark golden Coptic cross between her fingers slowly, making it dance and jingle whenever it collided with her fingernails. She finally held it between her fingers, one of her nails scratching one of the three tips on one of the cross’s arms.

It was mid-October. They had made all calculations; Angela was due around these dates. Fareeha reviewed everything she’d done through the past months: every preparation, every necessary arrangement, everything that could go wrong. She wasn’t counting on being so far away by now. She hoped every day she’d leave that frozen hell towards Alexandria, and in her heart of hearts - hiding from everyone, and from herself, with every mask she could wear - she prayed every day.

Angela was due around these days. Fareeha squeezed her eyes shut, balling her fists beside her body to control the surge of fury and frustration that came upon her.

There was nothing else she could do.

 

* * *

 

Secret Base 16: Montferrat had been improved to serve Overwatch when it was seized, but due to its hidden nature all changes had been discreet, as to not catch attention from tourists or shepherds. Most alterations have been on creating underground quarters, antinuclear bunkers and other modern additions, such as extra architectural safety and easy access to the internet and other communications. Fareeha had been briefed in all of that as she arrived, and she had enough engineering knowledge to fix whatever issues that had could arise.

Except the _ancient_ , _outdated_ , _old_ heating system no one cared to change since _2030_ and now there are no parts to substitute the broken ones and _no way_ to get around with the few tools left in the base by the last occupants.

Fareeha wished she could forget about the heating issue for once, especially after so long in the stakeout. But every time she left the den to descend to the dining room, with its dark granite walls always smelling like mold and humidity, her mood got immediately dampered. If only it was warm, that room would be the perfect place for camaraderie, with its round oak table and pictures of Overwatch’s members and condecorations hanging in the walls. However, the small fireplace wasn’t enough to make the 4 stationed soldiers cheery enough to appreciate them.

Two of her subordinates were already there when she descended, chatting and chuckling in a low tune huddled in microfiber blankets, as if not being loud would make them feel warmer. When they saw Fareeha they all motioned to salute, but she dismissed the formalities with a wave of her hand. She hadn’t brought her own blanket, as she thought it’d be a little too humiliating, but the volume of the added jackets and sweaters she was wearing was enough to give her a comical silhouette - and maybe the bright yellow snow coat she was wearing wasn’t the greatest choice to keep her dignity. Not that she cared _that much_ anymore.

“Hello, Pharah” chirped Deborah Bureau, raising her tea mug in Fareeha’s direction. “Any news from the Pantheon today?” The “Pantheon” was how they called the Helix’s higher command.

“The gods have been silent all day long.” claimed Fareeha, opening her arms dramatically as she approached the table. “We shall sleep again, waiting for their divine voice tomorrow.” Deborah snickered at the remark, the dimples in her cheeks deepening. Fareeha smiled at the curly-haired woman reaction.

“I wonder what they’re thinking with this mission. We’ve been scouting the south quadrant for days now, and we found nothing so far. And the weather is bound to worsen in a few days.” Marina Moreno was the earnest of the bunch, and more frustrated for the lack of action than for their conditions. “With all due respect, Captain, this seems like a waste of time and resources.”

Pharah shrugged, rising her arms with palms up and pouting. There was nothing she could actually do. “At least you can keep some distance from that brother of yours and his girlfriend for a while, Moreno.”

“Uuuugh, please do not remind me of them, Captain.” Marina made a face and dove her hands in her bushy curly hair, massaging her scalp. “Those idiots are going to ruin my family and our home. I mean, can’t he let her do something around the house? And they were talking about babies, after she let that rescued kitten die for not reminding herself to feed it…”

Deborah choked on her tea comically, in a motion Fareeha noticed she practiced beforehand to feign greater surprise. “What? She sure will be a _great_ mom…”

Fareeha felt a small jolt on her chest at the remark, and her mind fluttered back to Angela. She shook her head slightly and decided to change the subject. “So, what about Justin? I thought their shift wasn’t today…”

“Justin? Ha, can’t stop whining. They’ve complained about their freezing ass all day long. I think they only volunteered to sentinel nearly all day only to spend an entire night tucked in bed, warm.” Deborah laughed again, taking a bite of her _ful medames_ dish.

Fareeha frowned at her, stopping her motion towards the pot in the middle of the table. “They can’t take multiple watching shifts on a row. We have organized the shifts from the start. That’s completely irregular.

“Well, true. But Pharah, if you allow me to say, this is a very unusual situation. I mean, not even you are aware of what’s going on here. We’ve been receiving sporadic reports from the Pantheon and besides some recognition scouting, nothing has come up.”

Marina nodded in agreement, looking at Fareeha with the corner of her eye and quickly shifting her gaze towards her own plate before the captain could completely turn to her. Fareeha felt her face turn hot.

She stared coolly at Deborah, who stopped munching on her fava beans at once.

“Soldiers. This is unacceptable.” She laid her empty plate on the table, standing straight before the other two. Deborah had a half-smile frozen on her face, bewildered, while Marina did her best not to look directly into her superior’s eyes. Fareeha reached for the communicator inside her jacket and pressed the general channel. “Soldier Silva. This is Pharah. Come to the dining room immediately. Over”

It took less than two minutes for Justin’s freckled face to appear on the doorframe, all red. They walked a well as he could in his mud-covered boots towards their superior, and saluted. Fareeha felt a pang of pity in her heart; not even in her youngest days had she ever found a soldier looking so distraught to meet their superior officer. How could have the Pantheon have deployed such unprepared kid to this cold wasteland?

“Both of you there, get up.” Deborah and Marina scampered to stand beside Justin, also saluting. Fareeha was fully aware she wouldn’t have to make much effort to look respectful, even in the horrible bulging yellow jacket. She motioned for them to be at ease, and stared at them silently for a few seconds, suddenly aware of how old she was in comparison. Deborah was the oldest and she couldn’t be older than 25...

“Soldiers.” Fareeha started, measuring her words. “I believe we’re all conscious on our current situation, which means we don’t know much about what this mission is about, yet. Although we’re still to discover the reasons why Helix has deployed us here, we’re still under their orders and must remain alert at all times. Overlooking our security protocols and disrespecting the guard schedules is inadmissible in any situation.”

She laid her eyes on Justin, who was shaking visibly. Fareeha tried to use a softer tone. “Soldier, the reason why watching shifts are the way they are is so no one will get overly tired from them, and keep their eye open to danger. In this weather this is especially true; it’s easy to doze off when we can barely keep our body heat. And we’re not talking only about enemies: there are bears and bobcats in this region and they might be attracted by the smell of food. Let them catch you unprepared, and you’ll be in trouble.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” they muttered, clearly making an effort to make themselves audible.

“But if a member of the platoon commits that kind of mistake, it means that someone let you. It’s my fault that I haven’t paid enough attention to if you were following the schedule correctly. It’s also your comrades’ responsibility to be aware of such, as you’re clearly the less experienced of all of us.” She turned to the other two. “Soldier Moreno. Soldier Bureau. You know the importance of such schedules, so you have a share of the responsibility, too. Especially because you kept that from your superior officer and only mentioned it offhandedly, like it meant nothing. It doesn’t matter that we’re not in a war trench. We have duties here, and they’re as important as any in our organization.”

Fareeha let her words sink in for a few seconds. Justin seemed about to cry at any moment, while Marina tightened her jaw. Deborah was the only one who looked somewhat calm, even though her eyes were slightly glossed over.

“Silva, you’re resting tonight. Moreno and Bureau, you’re taking kitchen duty for the next three days. I’ll be in charge of the night guard shift tonight, and after that the guard schedule will be restored. Dismissed.” The three soldiers in front of her saluted again and slowly proceeded to sit at the table. Fareeha walked towards it, took a soda can and grabbed her plate, filling it with _ful medames_ before walking out of the room.

Arriving in her den, Fareeha crawled under her makeshift fort, and for the first time since she’d built it, she felt stupid. She was no greenhorn, and yet she allowed her three - three - soldiers make such a naïve mistake in a place where she absolutely could have eyes everywhere. And they told her about that so _nonchalantly_.

A thought springed in her mind before she could help it: “ _Would that happen to Mom?_ ” She scratched her right cheek, sighing angrily, and stuffed her mouth with _ful_ and bread. She couldn’t compare herself to Ana, ever; they were different people, with different styles. But would those kids disrespect Horus like they’d just disrespected Pharah?

Or did that mean she wasn’t paying enough attention to what she had at hand?

Pharah reached for the cross again, examining it with attention. Every node, every corner. The twelve points on the four arms.

 _Some wandered in desert wastelands, finding no way to a city where they could settle. They were hungry and thirsty, and their lives ebbed away._ She swallowed, the food like sandpaper in her throat. _Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them from their distress. He led them by a straight way to a city where they could settle. Let them give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind, for He satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things._ ’

Fareeha squeezed the cross in the palm of her hand, actually puncturing her own skin this time. She had other things to worry about, there, in the turret. All the help she could provide, she would provide from doing her best on the mission she had asked in order to protect Angela.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost” Fareeha made the sign of the cross over her chest and remained in silence for a while, trying to organize her thoughts.

“Lord, it’s been a long time since we talked about anything really important. Anything that wasn’t complaining and general prayers. But that was a mistake.” She grabbed the cross until three more tips buried in her skin. “I have been trying to not think of it for all this time, and keep focused at whatever was at reach. But I can’t anymore. So please forgive me, but I have a request. One of the most important requests I’ve ever uttered.”

Fareeha closed her eyes. She focused on the heat coming from the fireplace, spreading through her thighs and side, creeping slowly until she felt her whole body evenly warm. She took a few deep breaths, and opened her eyes again.

“You protected Mary and Jesus Christ as they ran through Egypt. You hid them from Herod, o Lord, and in that land they were safe in Your sights. My land was a safe haven for them.

“Now… I sent another mother to my land. I asked her to stay there, I mean. I arranged it so she and her baby will be safe. I did everything within my reach.

“Now that I’m blind and deaf to her, I need to trust You, Lord, to protect them now that I can’t do much more.”

She grasped her cross even tighter, and she could feel blood forming from the wound.

“And let us meet again, let us be reunited. Let me fulfill my vow.”

Angela was safe, and God had given her good things. That’s what Fareeha needed to believe now.

“Amen.”


	4. Third

Angela had asked the taxi driver to take the scenic route by the bay from the hospital. It’d cost her a deal more, but not as much as the driver was used to take from foreigners - he looked pleasantly surprised when that Germanic, platinum-blonde woman began to bargain the price he demanded in great, albeit quite accented, Arabic, and he told her that. Her response was “Well, my newborn is from here, so I’ll make sure he calls for a taxi next time so the accent won’t be an issue.” followed by a smirk, and the driver was so amused he gave her a generous discount when he dropped her off, as a “birthday gift for the kid”.

Falke surely was deserving it. He was one of the calmest newborns she’d ever seen, and while she knew that could change radically in a matter of days (he was still adapting to autonomous life, after all), she was grateful he was “allowing” her to rest a little after birth. As they turned to enter the El-Gaish Road and sight of the glimmering Eastern Harbor came up, Angela rolled down the window and shifted his position carefully until his face was turned to towards the bay.

“See, _Schätzli_? That is the sea. See all those boats?” she chirped, staring lovingly at Falke’s round and confused eyes. A light breeze made him scrunch them quickly and start fussing, and Angela cradled him a little tighter and away from the window. “And that’s wind. It may feel strange now, but it’s actually good. I’ll take you flying someday and you’ll see how great it is.” She went quiet for a second, recalling her missions hectically tagging after Fareeha in the air, and added concern in her voice as she completed. “ _Maybe_. _Maybe_ someday.” And she sighed, actually relaxing a little for the first time in a long while.

But the image of a preteen Fareeha in the Overwatch Headquarters whining to a much younger Ana to touch her rifle bloomed in her mind without permission. “Perhaps you will someday, _ya danaaya_ , just not today.”, Ana had uttered, her voice low and proud, while a smile played on her lips. Fareeha had contorted her small features in frustration, opening her mouth to gripe, and right on cue Ana had worn a suddenly serious expression. “تأتي الرياح بما لا تشتهي السفن, Fareeha. Winds do not blow as the ships wish.” The girl immediately froze in place, slowly lowering her gaze to the ground. Ana seemed satisfied with that, and petted her daughter’s hair before walking away from the communal room.

A young Angela, who had watched the whole exchange from the small coffee table by the window, quickly called the still upset Fareeha to show her some silly video on the internet, hoping to distract her until she forgot the episode. Angela, at least, thought she had, and a bitter taste invaded her mouth as Fareeha’s childish image mutated into her adult version, the bright smile she shone to the doctor the last time they’d seen each other still burned in her mind.

Maybe it was natural to recall mother and child figures in her past now, she quickly rationalized, and Ana and Fareeha were the closest and the strongest she had most of her life; but thinking about them washed her with a stream of memories. Lena blinking in and out of sight, giggling, while the doctor tried to test her. Evenings playing chess with Winston. Making infusions with Ana. Long Sundays in Torbjörn’s shop with him and Reinhardt telling old stories. Genji’s letters, so full of love even after their time together was over. McCree and their annoyance towards each other forgiven when they sat down to drink - coffee, beer, whiskey - together. Jack and her annoyance towards _him_ forgiven when he’d thank her for her service. Even Gabe, when he was still Gabe, calling her “kiddo” even when she was entering her thirties.

And taking Fareeha to her senior prom as per her request. She couldn’t help a hearty chuckle remembering them on the stage, her friend helplessly intoxicated, an eternity ago. Were they really ever that young?

Angela always preferred working at the hospital, or in the field, instead of Overwatch. She had always held contempt towards their goals and their methods, accepting her place as Mercy as the proverbial deal with the Devil. But she’d be lying if she said hell didn’t house the best of friends, much more than she’d ever been able to make throughout her life.

With some exceptions, of course...

She pinched the bridge of her nose with her left hand, massaging the spot vigorously for several seconds before sighing and looking down at her son nestled in her lap. He moved his small stiff arms aimlessly, his huge eyes registering the worn-out inside of the taxi. Angela followed his gaze to a set of bright green plush dice dangling from the driver’s head support, and turned to watch the bay again. It was the beautiful noon of a beautiful day, and in time she would be riding her bike with Falke by the beach, and telling him stories of heroes of another time. And before that she’d walk with him in his carriage, and before that she’d be with him at home and walk in her small garden and they’d live a day at a time.

A sorrowful smile emerged on her lips as her gaze slipped back to the child. Falke was staring directly at her, the same look of perplexity he showed at everything he set eyes upon. How would she handle being a lone mother of a newborn, hiding in a strange city with no friends to support her, she did not know, but she had tried to get ready for it. She had not prepared to see Anwar’s eyes in her son’s, however, and beyond the grieving Angela was amused by that last prank her friend had pulled on her, for the rest of their lives.

  


* * *

 

“At least it's not snowing yet”, Fareeha mumbled, buried in many layers of coats and sweaters as she marched by the east side of the turret. The pathway by the side of the stone wall was covered in boot-squashed moss, and it didn’t make it less slippery to walk on. Fareeha used a free hand to keep balance when she nearly fell for the second time, holding the grip on her rifle holster a little tighter. “At least this is not all covered in ice”, she continued, miserably, “and the risk of falling and breaking an ankle isn’t that great. If there was ice and snow, I’d get soaked, too. It’s just...”

Fareeha looked ahead through the thick goggles, sighing on the military high fitting collar she had stretched up to her nose. A long winding trail snaked 10 feet away from the pathway, leading to a deep valley beyond huge granite slabs. There was a thin stream running down the valley as it lead to sparse trees that became melancholic woods southeast bound. Pharah and her subordinates had explored the small valley many times in their guard incursions around the turret, never finding anything more threatening than a wild cat. It was already dark, but the full moon shining in the sky and her shoulder flashlight were more than enough to light the well-known path. The place was peaceful enough to rest a little.

“At least,” huffed Fareeha as she dragged her boots towards the track “those rocks don’t get mossy.” She could use some fresh, gelid water from the stream to refill her canteen so she wouldn’t have to go inside to get more. She didn’t need to be reminded of the existence of her cozy den until the end of her shift.

She walked for about 10 minutes until she reached the entrance of the gorge. The night was so quiet she could clearly hear the clear water murmuring just around a few boulders away. Fareeha clutched the canvas bag around her waist while pushing her rifle out of the way as she nimbly opened the zipper and pulled a water purification tablet. She used her other hand to pull the collar down to her chin, holding the canteen, and held its cap between her teeth to open it. By the time she reached the narrow river, she had it all ready to fill the bottle and have it prepared for consumption, awkwardly motioning to kneel by the bank.

A hum throbbed lightly on her chest all of a sudden, ceasing as quickly as it had started, and Fareeha froze. She sat still a couple of confused seconds, feeling her heart starting to race at the same spot she had the sensation. But when the vibration happened again, she had no doubts.

Fareeha threw her canteen, goggles and rifle aside, unfastening her outside jacket as fast as her arms would allow. She then tucked a trembling hand inside her sweater collar, fighting all layers of fabric almost frantically, until she felt the lean chain under her fingers. She pulled it out and stared at the Coptic cross dangling before her eyes, its golden details invisible in the night, but a small yellow light blinking at its center.

The soldier’s body was drained of color, and she felt her eyes water. She pressed the middle of the cross and brought it close to her mouth.

“Who is this?” she sounded harsh and steady despite her racing mind.

“ _Der ‘Engel’, meine Spätzli._ It’s me.” Angela’s sweet voice rang through her bones. It was distorted by the small device, but it was her voice, nonetheless. Fareeha swallowed hard, trying to speak through her trembling lips. She gasped a few times before being able to speak again.

“Ange”, she muttered hoarsely, “,are you okay? You sound okay. Did anything happen? Is the baby okay?” Her insides were burning with anxiety, and she was cringing her teeth to keep herself composed.

“I am okay. It’s all okay.” she sounded serene. A wave of relaxation ran through Fareeha’s body for a moment, before her muscles tensed again.

“Then -- you shouldn’t be using… _damn it_ , Angela, this is for emergencies!” she hissed at the communicator. “I was… I nearly… Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack.” she breathed a few times for her heart to pick up normal speed. “Are you _sure_ everything’s fine? You’re not in need of _supplies_?” “Supplies” was the safe code for them. If something was off, Angela was to answer with “I need some toys for the cat” or something along those lines. That being the case, Fareeha would move all strings possible to get to her.

“No. It’s all fine. The cat’s fine too.” Fareeha let out a relieved sigh, closing her eyes. Her body started relaxing for good, and some muscle knots could be felt under the skin from the sudden tension. She began to realize she had scolded the other woman before even checking with the safeword, and a taste of regret came to her mouth. But she did feel a touch of annoyance because it there was nothing wrong...

“Ange, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” she rested her back against a slab, and reached for the canteen by her side, feeling thirsty all of a sudden. “I just… what happened? For you to reach me, I mean. We had agreed we wouldn’t be in touch for your own safety, and you call me and I’m just sure you’ve been kidnapped or they opened you up and took the baby like they show in ‘Real Crime on TV’...”

A metallic sound came off the pendant, and Fareeha predicted it was a distorted scoff.

“If you just let me speak…” Angela’s scornful tone trailed off. When she spoke again, she sounded genuine “Ok, I’m sorry. Forgive me for scaring you. You’re right. But I needed to talk to you.”

Fareeha opened her eyes, sensing something she couldn’t pinpoint. “What is it?”

The communicator was quiet. The Egyptian could make out Angela’s pondering breathing from the other side, and took a sip of water.

“Guess what?” she chirped all of a sudden. “He _does_ look like a Falke. He’s got my nose!”

Fareeha gasped on the water, and remained silent for a few moments before the words made sense in her head. “Wait-- you--”

“He was born yesterday, Falke. We’re home already. He’s big and healthy.” Fareeha’s brain could barely register Angela’s musical tone. “I thought you’d have liked to know. I wanted to tell you.”

On her side of the world, Angela jumped slightly when Fareeha’s booming laughter came through her disguised communicator. She couldn’t help to smile widely at her friend’s sheer joy. And although they didn’t have much time to spare through those means of communication and Angela had to hang up right after assuring Fareeha they were both perfectly fine, promising to get back in touch as soon as possible with more details and bidding goodbye with a heavy heart, Fereeha’s grin lasted long after that.

“Falke, at last.” she whispered to the now regular cross. “Can’t wait to meet you. Just can’t wait.”


	5. Fourth

On the fourth night at home with the baby, she felt terror again.

* * *

Once, an eternity ago, she was in Mut, and the most beautiful sun shone over her. She brushed her nose with the back of her hand for the twentieth time since they came outside, and she was sure it was about to start bleeding at any moment. Egypt was so dry, it made the mountains feel like a rainforest; the sweet smoke from antiquated automobiles and from food being grilled outside certainly didn’t help, attacking her nostrils and making her eyes water. Dakhla was once a great oasis, but Angela should’ve known that its lakes wouldn’t cancel the vast desert that stretched around it.

Mandisa trotted in front of her, trying to reach a bouncy boy with dusty curls who seemed way too excited to go shopping with two older women. Kareen turned his chubby freckled face towards his older sister and flashed a devilish smile before diving into a busy street, barely missing a motorcycle coming the other way. Both Mandisa and Angela stood paralyzed at the accident that nearly happened for a split second, but Mandisa reacted faster.

“You no-good  _ ifrit _ ! You know Mama will roast me alive if I take you home in pieces!” She hurried her step towards the street, Angela following on her heels as best as she could. A multitude of colorfully dressed men and women scurried up and down the streets of Mut doing shopping, running errands, and selling goods in busy tent shops, all intelligible talk engulfed by the hum of a living town.

Mandisa was donning a purple hijab with delicate yellow and pink flowers, and for such Angela was thankful, as it made a lot easier for her to spot the teenager in the crowd and not get completely lost in that new environment. Sure, she would get street clever with time, but in the moment the heat and the sensory overload made her too confused. She only needed to follow Mandisa to the flower shop, get a new bouquet for Mr Hassan, and return to the clinic. On the next occasion, she hoped, they'd leave later in the day, when the sun was lower in the sky and her large straw hat actually made her feel cooler, and not just itchy.

Angela watched as Mandisa grabbed Kareem by the collar, pulling him back, and placed him right in front of her. The boy pouted as his sister yelled at him, and Angela had the feeling that had happened many times before.

“You are to stay by my side and obey me and the Doctor, like Mama told you to. If you run off and get lost and the wild dogs catch you, fine by me, but don't you dare doing that under my watch!” she waved her finger before the boy's face and he was clearly getting annoyed at it. “So you stay put, Kareem, or you're getting no sweets when we get back. Not even a single piece of candy.”

Kareen threw his head back with a disdainful scoff that looked exactly like his sister’s.

“Yeah, do that and I'll tell Mama you're mistreating me!” snapped him, crossing his arms with a sneer. “Or better, I'll tell her you came only to see your  _ boyfriend _ . I'll tell her you have a super ugly, super bad boyfriend. With tattoos and all!”

Mandisa's cheeks flushed red in an instant, and Angela decided it was best to intervene.

“Now, now, Kareem, we're here all together.” She placed a hand on Mandisa’s shoulder reassuringly, giving the boy her kindest look through her sunglasses. “If you don’t walk with us, you might get hit by a car or something. Let’s be together and later we’ll grab some ice cream, deal?”

Kareem turned his face to the doctor, not changing an inch of his expression while she spoke. “Listen, Doctor,” he let out an overdramatic sigh when she finished, gesturing with his palms up. “You’re very welcome in our home in the desert. Our family - ” he made a wide motion with his arms, and Angela heard Mandisa’s sigh behind her, sensing she buried her face in her hands. “- is very glad to have you here. But I’m afraid this is not how things works in Dakhla Oasis. One needs to know the lengths they’re willing to go to achieve their goals.”

Angela was silent for a few seconds before lifting her sunglasses, her striking blue eyes staring at his, expressionless. 

“What is your price?”

“Assorted rolly cakes.” Kareem promptly answered, smirking. “Of all types.”

“How many different types there is?”

“Three. Marshmallow, chocolate, and chocolate coated.” exclaimed Mandisa “He eats that crap before lunch and dinner and eats nothing healthy. Mama’s taken him to so many doctors and --”

“Three of each, and you’re eating them only as dessert.” Interrupted Angela, never taking her eyes off Kareem, “And all throughout the week. You’ll manage the quantities.”

Kareem’s eyes widened a little, but he recomposed himself.

“Five of each.”

“Four of each. Last offer.”

Kareem cocked his head to the side, intrigued, but soon shrugged and extended his right hand towards the woman. “Deal.”

Angela grabbed his hand, shook it firmly, and smiled while lowering her glasses. “Great! Nice negotiating with you, Kareem.” He stuffed his chest, smiling so his eyes were barely visible behind his cheeks. As he turned his back to the woman and the three of them started walking calmly, Mandisa gave Angela a strange expression between confusion and radiance, silently questioning what had just happened.

“I’ve got to make deals with youngster intelligent gorillas at one point in my life, bananas and peanut butter and such.” Angela muttered to her. “Children… don’t happen to be that different. Nor do adults, actually.” She chuckled quietly as Mandisa exploded laughing, loose as the kid she was.

* * *

Angela knew she’d spoken too soon at the hospital. She had been walking around the small house for over twenty minutes, keeping a wailing Falke upright against her shoulder and massaging his back up and down. It must be really afflictive, she reflected in her hazy mind, to be so new to a cold world and not knowing exactly what you want and how to get it. She was already sleepwalking through the rooms, though, and still couldn’t figure how to calm the newborn down.

But she had done everything. Angela had nursed him, made him burp, changed him, clothed him more, unclothed him, massaged his tummy (even though couldn’t be colics, it was too soon for those), checked his tiny body for any hairs or splinters, checked again for any injuries, and had dragged her feet holding the child until she couldn’t keep her eyelids open, but Falke didn’t give any signs of stopping his crying. 

Anxiety grew in Angela’s heart, starting to spread through her body. Doctor Ziegler knew it could be anything, and she had to be systematic to try and comfort the baby. However, new mother Angela was desolated by her child’s anguish and guilt was very real right now. What if there was something actually wrong? Should she go to the ER already?

“ _ Bitte hör auf zu weinen, Liebling. _ ” she mumbled against the fabric of this onesie. “ _ Mama muss schlafen _ .” She did need to sleep, she had no resting time to waste, but she didn’t dare voicing her true worries out loud. Frustrated, Angela kissed his side through the fabric, carefully cuddling him closer to her face.  _ Please stop, my love, please stop. We have things to do.  _

A few seconds went by until she realized his wailing wasn’t as desperate anymore. She blinked and pondered a bit. What if…

She turned towards her bedroom, suddenly inspired. It was small. but she had managed to fit both a second-hand crib and an old  rocking chair there by moving her desk to the living room and changing the heavy dresser that came with the flat to a slimmer one. She tried to keep everything as tidy as possible, as there was already little space to move around, but a sad little pile of dirty clothing was tucked between her bed and the wall already. She had made a note during the day to move it to the laundry area. There had been no time.

The rocking chair creaked alarmingly when the woman sat there and tried to make herself comfortable moving and fluffing the pillows on her back with one hand. When she was satisfied, she leaned back and placed her crying child’s body against her chest and placing his cheek against hers, using her foot to rock themselves lightly.

“Shhh… Mama’s here. It’s alright. I’m watching over you.” She inhaled against Falke’s skin, the scent of powder and milk going through her body like a balsam. Her eyelids had given in, but she didn’t feel as hopelessly exhausted as before; relaxation slowly spread in the atmosphere of the room, her muscles unstrained under her skin yet still firmly holding her newborn in place. She felt, more than heard, his wailing fading within her shush.

Time then stopped, the rocking of the chair the only movement in the world. Angela knew it was right.

When she reopened her eyes, everything was still immobile. Falke had gone quiet, his belly going up and down against her chest. Angela sighed, running her fingers against his back and getting surprised, once again, on how his body was so tiny. He was so small, so delicate. The past days had been a whirlpool of emotions, aching body parts, not knowing what or how to do now she was back to her little routine. She knew no other parent in the world was more prepared than her to face the challenge, but how could she know she would be crying every night when she got up to nurse her baby? How would she guess there was no time,  _ no time at all _ , and no will at all to do anything and still so much to do?

Also, she never knew how lonely it was.

A throb reverberated in her stomach, stiffening her muscles for a second. Falke shifted a little, and Angela forced herself to recover a more steady breathing rhythm. He had nothing to do with all that; he had so much to worry about, learning to be alive. With a heavy heart, Angela carefully got up and crossed the room towards Falke’s crib, laying them down and kissing their forehead before red dots began to invade her line of sight.

She barely managed to reach the bathroom, her legs giving up as soon as she turned the light switch on. The sound of her own heavy breathing and blood pulsing in her ears were all she was aware of as she helplessly laid on the tiled floor, unable to feel anything further. The mist before her eyes had nothing to be with her previous drowsiness.

So she closed them and tried to empty herself of everything.

 

* * *

 

Kareem had a surprisingly good taste for flowers. He chose an exquisite bouquet with roses and poppies, in rose, red and yellow. Mandisa was drawn to a extravagant vase of yellow and violet vines that oddly matched her hijab, and although they were beautiful on their own right Angela’s opinion was to stick with the more conservative option. For the little she could gather from the siblings when she arrived, he wasn’t very keen on jovial things, especially when coming for young people. And for what she could tell from their brief chat when Angela was lead to meet the current patients of the clinic, he also considered her young, even if he was just barely 10 years older than her.

After paying for the bouquet and leaving the store, Angela had a much better mood than earlier. She brushed her hand against her nostrils absentmindedly as Mandisa approached behind her, scrolling through the screen of sleek black palm-sized holotablet. Kareem carried the meticulously wrapped flowers in a prideful fashion, the vivid colors on his arms contrasting with the clear blue afternoon sky and the orange and gold street walls. The florist was on a much less busy street, where vibrant creeping ivy covered the façade of all nearby buildings and people walked at a more leisurely pace. A delicious smell floated around as the nearby food tents and stores prepared the later afternoon batch of fresh treats. 

“Weeeell, it seems all for today. We were supposed to grab a few cleaning supplies for Mama, but she just messaged me saying that never mind.” She slid her device into a pocket and looked up to Angela. “Tariq already picked those up on his trip to do his errands. I wonder if he’ll remember to pick us up?”

“Do you think he’d forget?” inquired Angela.

“Dunno. He’s usually responsible and all.” Mandisa fished her device back, her finger nimbly working through the apps. “He didn’t answer my message yet though, so maybe we could have a snack? I’m super hungry, and I’ll bet that so are you, Doctor.”

Angela heard her stomach growl. “I happen to be, yes.” The last time she ate was on the plane from Cairo to Dakhla Oasis, in the early morning. The ricotta and jam sandwich was very good and she couldn’t complain about the flight service, but she had been dozing off ever since she left her home in Zurich the previous evening and missed most of the offered meals and snacks. In fact, she had been skipping meals and and sleeping unhealthily for a while, as she got more and more swamped with new research and tech work; the relative peace of a plane trip gave her the chance of at least get some well-deserved rest.

Well, the welcoming quarters the people of the new Dakhla general hospital prepared for her gave her even more peace. The personnel was kind and excited to have her, and they arranged that her bed smelled fresh and too inviting not to sleep on for a few hours before getting to know the place. Unfortunately she had woken up too late to have lunch before the tour, and the impromptu invitation to go the nearby city of Mut for flowers with the children had been so earnest she couldn’t possibly turn down.

As the afternoon advanced, though, Angela was starting to wonder if her lightheadedness was only due to sensory overload.

“There’s a kebab joint over there.” Mandisa motioned towards a building around 100 meters from where they stand, her eyes shifting quickly back to the screen. “I haven’t been there for a while, but the reviews are still good. Maybe we could go to two blocks down from here, for a burger or something, or on the Second street where…”

“Come on, Mandi. Look at Doctor Zieg. She could eat a  _ horse _ . Or an  _ ox _ . And you know Miriam’s kebabs are good enough.” chimed Kareem, standing in front of both women with a knowing look. “Let’s just go and eat.  _ I _ could eat a horse. Or a camel! I could definitely eat a camel.”

Mandisa rolled her eyes, but Angela laughed and they all began walking towards the kebab joint.

The food was indeed delicious, and an hour later Angela was sure she had too much to eat. She cursed her overcompensating self as she swallowed the last bite of her kebab and laid back on the wall, lazily watching Mandisa chastise her brother for asking for  _ yet another  _ plate. Behind them, through the open door, an impossibly blue sky shone over the palm trees.

She had volunteered to revitalize the United General Clinic - Dakhla Oasis, accessing the current situation and reporting to Overwatch as needed for all necessary arrangements in order to turn it a reference installation in Egypt. She had been accepted immediately; no one else was even competition taking her position into account, and it wasn’t as if it was likely she’d turn the opportunity down. Angela Ziegler had made a name for herself during the years the organization was down as a refugee camp medic, and if lack of resourcefulness was one of the few critiques she received before she was darn sure  _ that  _ wasn’t a problem anymore. She was the number one choice for any kind of medical administration issue in less fortunate areas of the world, and her work to heal and and serve people was the reason she woke up every day.

According to the info she had received back in Zurich, Dakhla UGC was in need of intervention, and when she arrived there she realized how lacking the report was. Dakhla UGC was in desperate need of administrative maintenance, and there was a severe absence of some basic supplies and qualified personnel in a few areas. However, Angela noticed fast how genuinely involved everyone was at making the clinic work as well as possible, providing a clean and cozy environment for patients and their families. In fact, the lack of some qualified people was partially remediated by the work of volunteers, who also took part in various activities - like Mandisa and Kareem, whose parents volunteered as part-time chambermaid and valet there, and the kids helped as they could.

For now, Angela would only observe how work developed in a daily basis. She’d talk to everyone there and make notes on what was supposed to be done, before reporting back to the organization with needed supplies. From a highly expensive doctor in her younger years, she was now more known for being succinct on both her demands and her communications. That attitude was seen mostly with appraisal, although sharper members in Overwatch could see the contempt between her lines. Not that she cared anymore. She was too valuable to be thrown out by any ego battle.

So she got to choose her missions, and bring herself maximum satisfaction while doing her job. That UGC wouldn’t be the first place anyone would fly a top-notch versatile doctor like her… but she wanted to be there, so they complied, and she’d agree to their shenanigans to make them happy and leave her alone.

In the end, it was a way to keep working towards peace, and that was the only thing she truly wanted.

“So Doctor, what brought you here? To the Oasis region, I mean.” asked Mandisa, tentatively. Angela focused on her tanned face and allowed herself to admire the reflection of the sky on her hazel eyes for a second before speaking.

“I heard the clinic was in trouble, so I came. I’m good at fixing things up in hospitals and other places as such, and I decided to give it a try.”

“Mmmm. So I heard, Doctor.” Mandisa sighed gravely, which didn’t match her jovial features, making it more endearing than adult. “But that’s not that. I meant like, why here? There are hundreds of places like this in the world. Even in bigger cities. And we know you’re a very renowned and important doctor--”

“Are you here to harvest our bodies??” Kareem turned to Angela, eyes big as plates, his chubby face even rounder in shock. “In that film, ‘The last human heart’ there was that ominic that harvested people’s organs and ate them, and looked more and more like a person in the process! Could you be--”

Mandisa did a 90º turn on her place to face her brother and smack him in the back of his head, and even in the shade of the place she looked noticeably flushed. “Don’t you have any respect for your elders? And for your guests? Doctor Ziegler flew all the way from Europe to come here and you call her a criminal? Kareem, you are--”

“Hey! Hey, it’s not that big of a deal, Mandi!” Angela stretched out her arms between the siblings in a plea for peace, stopping Mandisa from striking her teary-eyed brother again. “Do not engage in fights. Please. Violence is not the solution.”

“But… but he…” When Mandisa turned to face the woman, it was clear she was holding back angry tears, too. “That kind of behavior isn’t accepted towards guests in our family, Doctor. Kareem’s tongue is faster than his train of thought, but he needs to learn manners at some point!”

“I understand.” Angela touched Mandisa’s wrist gently, and the teenager’s fury started deflating. “But I don’t approve of the use of violence to defend me, Mandisa. Nor anyone, if possible. Think about it: violence brings resentment, anger and fear. Do you want that between you and your brother?”

Mandisa finally gave in and sat back down, all energy drained from her as she blinked rapidly. Kareem, however, was letting tears roll, his face wrinkled in misery.

“She  _ always  _ does that! Always!” He sobbed, his voice hoarse and unhappy. “Do you know what that is? That's called child abuse! I'll call the police!”

“That's called sibling relationship.” Mandisa rolled her eyes. “And a way to teach you some manners. The Doctor is a--”

“ _ Guest _ .  _ Yeah _ , Mandi. I heard you a thousand times.” Kareem set his napkin on the table, straightening his clothes as he rose. “Excuse me,  _ sister _ . Excuse me, Doctor Zieg. I need some fresh air.” He turned primly and left the shop. Mandisa rolled her eyes even deeper, grimacing in the process and looking at Angela with a smug expression. The Doctor frowned at her in return, turning her attention to the young boy strolling outside at the serene afternoon.

Until the blast and the burning car came barreling down the street.

 

* * *

 

Angela snapped awake on the cold bathroom floor an unknown time later. She felt her limbs pop, her torso and neck hurting from the awkward lying position when she sat up. Her head bobbed aimlessly as she tried to regain conscience, until a jolt of anxiety struck her completely awake when she thought of Falke.

That was too sudden for her body, however, and a new wave of weakness creeped over her, making her muscles once again slightly unresponsive. She sighs. Too fast, always too little time.

_ Why do you think you’re always wasting time? _ She heard the voice of her Anatomy teacher from over 20 years ago in the back of her hazy mind. More than one or two or five people had asked her throughout her life. She  _ was  _ wasting time. Each minute someone died without her aid. Each hour sleeping meant one chapter postponed. Each week of missions was a week away from researching new technology to protect more people.

And each moment sitting there was a moment she wasn’t resting. And she needed to rest, as the baby would wake up soon to eat. That thought allowed her to gather the strength to finally get up and wash her face, going to the living room to walk in circles for a few minutes while her mind returned to normal.

Angela massaged her temples and forehead slowly, in circular movements, until her head felt normal again. When she motioned to return to her bedroom, she bumped on the desk next to the doorframe. Her eyes scanned the items on it: a pile of books, some old delivery folders, ballpoint pens, a computer, a “get well soon” card… and a clean, pinkish sheet of paper on on top of it all. Only two lines were written:  
  


**_Alexandria, October 24th 207X_ **

**_Dear Falke,_ **

 

Angela blinked a few times and turned her head away, walking into the corridor towards her room.

There was no time. There was no time at all. She laid down on her bed and sighed, determined.

But she had to  _ make  _ time. For them.

**Author's Note:**

> Yooo, it's been a LONG time since I last wrote! Hopefully it's okay! I really want to get a little better on this, it makes me happy.
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker and I couldn't get official beta corrections so please be kind with your critique (but please, please do drop them!)
> 
> Thanks for reading and for commenting, if you'd like. I welcome all critique!
> 
> \- Beryl


End file.
